


2 AM Confessionals

by Realmer06



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Realmer06/pseuds/Realmer06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two AM the night after episode 98 finds Lizzie awake in Netherfield's library, rereading a certain letter. How will Will react when he finds her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	2 AM Confessionals

**Author's Note:**

> The conversations that Darcy and Elizabeth have in P&P after they're engaged are some of my favorite moments in the whole novel, and are almost always left out of adaptations. I understand why, but I still miss them, and so, since I'm reasonably sure we won't be getting them in LBD, I decided to jot one of them down myself. Also, I wanted to write at least part of William's letter for him, since we never did get to read it for ourselves.
> 
> Also, this turned out way fluffier than originally intended. Blame it on today's Q&A.

Lizzie Bennet didn’t want to fall asleep. If she fell asleep, she ran the risk of waking up to discover that this had all been a dream, that she wasn’t currently in William Darcy’s bedroom at Netherfield, her limbs entangled with his under the sheets, his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders. No, she _really_ didn’t want this to be a dream.  
  
He was already asleep, had been asleep for some time, and for a while, she had enjoyed watching him as he slept, his face relaxed and peaceful, his breath soft and rhythmic. But she’d discovered pretty quickly that lengthy staring at a sleeping person was really only romantic in books and movies, and that in real life, it got awkward and a little weird before much time had passed.  
  
And she had to find a way to fight the pull, to resist the nearly overwhelming desire to rest her head on his chest and fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. She didn’t want to wake him; he’d denied it profusely, but he was fighting jet lag from his trip to Chicago, and he needed his sleep. So carefully, delicately, inch by inch, she extracted herself from his embrace, holding her breath and hoping he wouldn’t wake.  
  
He didn’t. She sat on the edge of the bed, straightened her tank top, and gave a sigh of relief.  
  
She thought she’d read for a bit. She’d thrown a bag together for Netherfield haphazardly, but she had remembered to toss a book in, and so she wouldn’t disturb Will, she grabbed it from her bag and slipped from the room. If she was remembering the mansion correctly, there was a small library of sorts just down the hall.  
  
Her memory served her well, both in finding the library and in finding an afghan to wrap herself up in as she curled up on a overstuffed couch, to lose herself in _A Little Princess_ for the umpteenth time.  
  
Her copy was well loved and dog-eared, but she refused to trade it in. This was the first book she’d read all the way through by herself. She let the soft pages open of their own accord, and was surprised to see Will’s letter fall out onto her lap. She’d forgotten she’d tucked it in this book for safekeeping.  
  
She laughed softly, setting the book aside, and picked up instead that letter from so long ago. Just like the novel, the pages had once been new and stiff, but countless reading and folding and unfolding had softened the paper. Because she had pored over this letter, read it countless times. She had it memorized. She traced a finger softly over the writing, the familiar words leaping up to meet her. It wasn’t what she had been expecting to reread, but given the circumstances, it seemed appropriate.  
  
 _Lizzie,_  
  
 _Do not worry. I am not about to repeat the declarations that were so recently so offensive to you. I have watched your videos, and so now know in the greatest of detail how you feel toward me. You have expressed yourself quite clearly, and were it not for the fact that my character has been called into question, I would do as you seem to so desperately wish and disappear from your life entirely._  
  
 _But my character has been called into question, and so, unwelcome as this letter might be, I feel I have earned the right to defend myself as I was unable to do when last we spoke. I believe, after everything you have leveled against me, that you owe me this courtesy. After that has been paid, you may proceed to think of me however you choose. But for this moment, I need to talk about Bing and Jane, and I need to talk about George, and all I ask is that you listen to what I have to say before you make any further judgements about me or any party involved._  
  
Lizzie brushed a thumb over the words, marveling at how far they had come since this letter had been written.  
  
"Lizzie?" Will's voice echoed from down the hall, underlined by a concern and a panic that confused Lizzie for only a moment. Then her eyes went wide with realization. If she was Will, how would she react upon waking to an empty bed in the middle of the night?  
  
"Idiot," she berated herself, and threw the blanket off from around her, hurrying to the door. "I'm here," she said immediately, and watched the tension drain out of him when he caught sight of her. Again, she kicked herself. "Sorry," she said sincerely. He shook his head and tried to look nonchalant, but she caught the tension that lingered around his mouth and the way he swallowed and breathed deeply, as if trying to return a racing heartbeat to normal. Guilt washed over her. "I didn't think," she said by way of further apology. "Really, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."  
  
"You didn't," he said immediately, but she didn't believe him, and with a look, she let him know. "Scare . . . isn't the right word," he amended hesitantly, coming to the library doorway. "You could easily have been in the bathroom or getting a drink of water---"  
  
"Or, I could have second guessed myself, had regrets, and slipped out in the middle of the night," she said straightforward, blunt, putting words to what he wouldn't. He glanced down, breaking eye contact, and she knew she'd hit the nail on the head. "Like I said," she said gently, "I'm sorry. I didn't think about what might go through your head if you woke up and I wasn't there. I'm . . . not used to thinking that way."  
  
"Nor am I," he said softly, closing the distance between them. "It was irrational to panic." Lizzie rolled her eyes.  
  
"Maybe," she said wryly. "But not, you know, unreasonable."  
  
He gave her the ghost of a smile. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked, gently sweeping her hair from her face.  
  
"Didn't want to," she admitted softly, and his gaze softened as her meaning hit him.  
  
"This isn't a dream," he said gently. She smiled up at him.  
  
"I know," she whispered, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. He indulged her willingly, bending down to meet her, but halfway through, he stopped abruptly, his focus captured past her, whatever he was seeing casting a frown on his face. Lizzie frowned up at him. "What is it?" she asked.  
  
"You don't still have that," he said cryptically, sounding stiff and uncomfortable. More puzzled than ever, Lizzie turned, trying to follow his gaze. Her eyes lit on his letter, resting on the floor where it had fallen when she'd gone to the door.  
  
"Oh, your letter?" she asked. "Of course I still have it. Why wouldn't I?"  
  
He grimaced, which was not the reaction she was expecting. "You don't read it, do you?" he asked, and he sounded as if hearing a 'yes' in response to the question would confirm his worst fears, a reaction that Lizzie really didn't understand.  
  
"I read it a lot, when you first gave it to me," she told him. "Trying to understand, trying to . . . I don't know, figure out how I had missed something so huge? But then, I stopped reading it constantly, just returned to it now and then when I found out something else I had missed, trying to see if it would lend new insights. I haven't read it for a while, though. Not since before Pemberley. I forgot I'd stuck it in that book. I _was_ reading over it when I heard you call,but —"  
  
"I wish you wouldn't." The words were curt and forceful, and they surprised Lizzie with their strength. "I wish you would burn it, tear it into little pieces, destroy it, never think of it again."  
  
Lizzie watched him carefully, then reached out and laid a hand on his arm. "What is it?" she asked gently.  
  
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Forgive me," he murmured.  
  
"I do," Lizzie said, "but I'd still like to know why you reacted so . . . violently."  
  
He opened his eyes. "You won't let this go?"  
  
Lizzie raised her eyebrows. "After that outburst? Not likely." When he didn't move, she sighed and took him by the hand. "Come on," she insisted, and led him over to the sofa she had been sitting on. With an overly dramatic flourish, she silently invited him to sit. He lifted a single eyebrow, but did as he was bid. Moving the offending letter to the coffee table, where Will continued to eye it with distaste, Lizzie settled on the other end of the couch so she could look at him, and waited expectantly.  
  
"That letter," he said finally, though it was clear he was discussing this reluctantly, "does not paint me in a particularly flattering light."  
  
Lizzie couldn't help it. She laughed. The sound startled him. "Geez, Will, is that all?" she asked. "Because if so, I see your letter and raise you 60 or 70 videos on the Internet."  
  
"The difference," he said softly, "is that I believed myself to be perfectly composed and rational when I wrote that. Perfectly collected, perfectly calm. Now, however, I know that I was not. I was angry and hurt and embarrassed and bitter, and far from being an acknowledgment of how I behaved poorly and a respectful defense of my actions where I was in the right, which is what it ought to have been, it was an attack, both defensive and beneath me. Several statements included in it, particularly in the opening, were deliberately phrased to cause pain. An ugly side of me comes out on those pages, and it is not one I would have you remember."  
  
Lizzie digested this in silence for a long moment, formulating her reply carefully. She watched Will as she thought, so tense and uncomfortable with these harsh truths he had admitted, and it struck her that he was, in many ways, harder on himself than she had been.  
  
"You and I see this letter very differently," she finally said. "It may represent the worst of yourself for you, but for me, this is what convinced me, for the first time, to consider you differently. Charlotte hadn't, Jane hadn't, Fitz hadn't, but this letter? It did. It surprises me to hear you call the opening an attack, though thinking about it now, I can see that. But at the time, I barely noticed because it was no different from what I had, in my mind, come to expect from you. Unfairly, but still. And to be blunt about it, in order for your words to hurt, I would have had to care about your opinion of me, and at that point, I didn't."  
  
Will frowned in quiet contemplation, considering. "And now?" he asked. Lizzie smiled cheekily.  
  
"What, you mean, do I care about your opinion now?"  
  
"I would hope that the past six hours have given me information enough to answer that question on my own," he remarked dryly. "I was referring to reading the letter tonight, if the words stung more now."  
  
"Honestly?" Lizzie said with genuine sincerity. "No. The person who wrote that letter and the person who received that letter are so markedly different now. Honestly, reading it tonight made me smile, because it's such a tangible reminder of how far we've both come. And the opening may have statements that reek of bitterness, but the end? ‘It is my sincerest hope that I have not further alienated you in the writing of this letter. I hope you will think better of me in some counts, though I know I will not have your forgiveness in all. Nevertheless, I truly wish you all the best”? No bitterness. No anger. Charity itself.”  
  
He had closed her eyes against her words, and now he spoke without opening them. “You . . . memorized it.” It was not quite a question.  
  
She shrugged, though he couldn’t see it. “I forget nothing,” she said, falling back to the old standby.  
  
“It was nine pages long.”  
  
“Eight and three quarters,” she corrected.  
  
“Lizzie,” he said, but didn’t follow it with anything. She raised her eyebrows expectantly. “How many times do you have to read eight and three quarters pages to memorize them?”  
  
He meant the question rhetorically, but she could tell it really bothered him that she might have spent lengthy afternoons poring over words that were so abhorrent to him. So she threw him a bone.  
  
“Not that many, actually,” she said, and when he looked primed to argue, most likely assuming she was being flippant, she interrupted, “It’s not just a thing I say, Will, I really do forget nothing. I have something of a photographic memory.”  
  
He shut his mouth. “Oh,” he said. She hid a smile.  
  
“If it makes you feel better, I also have pretty much the entirety of _Alice in Wonderland_ memorized word for word, too, and that’s way longer than nine pages.”  
  
“Eight and three quarters,” he said absently.  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“There’s still so much I have to learn about you, it seems,” he said softly. Lizzie stretched out a leg and nudged him with her foot to get him to look at her.  
  
“There’s a lot _we_ have to learn about each _other_ ,” she stressed. “We’re in this together now, remember?”  
  
His gaze softened as he looked at her. “How could I possibly forget?” he asked, the ghost of a smile gracing his face. Lizzie couldn’t keep a return smile off her face.  
  
The perfect moment was ruined a second later when Lizzie let out a massive yawn, the kind that stretched through her whole body. Will chuckled. “Come on,” he said, standing and holding out a hand to her. “Let’s get back to bed. And this time, you should actually sleep  
  
She stretched and sank further into the couch cushions. “Tired of our 2am confessional?” she asked with a sleepy smile.  
  
“Not at all. I am merely tired. As, I am sure, are you.”  
  
Lizzie yawned once more, then took his offered hand and let him lead her back to bed. And this time, she didn’t fight the sleep that overtook her. She knew he was no dream, and they had all the time in the world.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> You are, of course, invited to pick your favorite post-engagement banter and write your own 2 AM confessional. :) Otherwise, I'll have to do them myself eventually.


End file.
